Redeeming Kiss
by Sith Happens
Summary: Oneshot, slight slashy-ness, obviously cursing. In answer to a challenge by A Hotter Kiss A Better Touch. Murphy is in a downward spiral, and only Connor can pull him out.


-1**A/N: This one-shot is in response to a challenge given to me by A Hotter Kiss A Better Touch. I hope you enjoy it Kisses! Let me know if it meets your expectations.**

That night kept playing itself over and over in Murphy's mind, like a nightmare that would flash before him whenever he closed his eyes. No matter how many cigarettes he puffed or curses he mutter, no matter how many prayers he whispered or how much whiskey he choked down, the idea of what he had done still laid upon his chest, threatening to suffocate him.

He and Connor had been on a hit. Their Calling had led them to a group of drug dealers with the murderous intentions of expanding the business. They had dispatched the room quickly, Connor leaving Murphy to deal with the pennies and the prayers while he went off into another room to see if he could search out any more evil men. Murphy had just finished with the last one in the room, worried about how long his brother was taking, when there was a movement behind him. Gun raised, Murphy spun on his heal, taking just enough time to realize is wasn't his brother before he fired.

"Jaysus! No, Murph!" Connor was suddenly shouting, rushing into the room behind the downed figure. Confusion over took Murphy's brain entirely as Connor stooped down and pulled the body up, half-cradling the torso to his chest. "The fuck've ye done Murph?"

Murphy could see the face now, that of a young woman who would have been fairly pretty were it not for the bruises and cuts all over her face. Add to that the small hole in her forehead, dribbling a thin line of blood down the bridge of her nose from the well-aimed shot. He realized what he had done all too late, dropping the gun and shaking his head furiously, defeatedly. "I didn't know…"

"They had her tied up in the back," Connor continued, also shaking his head as he looked up to the ceiling, as if trying to ask the Good Lord to take it all back. His head fell back down, and in the process, Murphy was sure he saw tears in his brother's eyes. "Fuck Murph. She was a fuckin' innocent."

Murphy fell to his knees, burying his face in his hands and begged, begged that it was all just a nightmare he would soon wake up from.

--

Three days later, Murphy was still on his mattress, shoulders propped up against the wall a little so he could drink more effectively. He had barely moved in those three days, just a few times to go to the bathroom. Sometimes, Connor would bring in food on a plate, silently leaving it on the floor beside the bed because Murphy refused to look at him. Once in those three days Connor had tried to talk to him, but Murphy only grunted and curled up into a ball, pulling his thin sheet over his head in an attempt to hide the remorseful tears that kept trying to slide their way down his cheeks. Connor had taken to sleeping on the couch in the other room, leaving Murphy to his drunken reverie. Murphy never could sleep without his brother in the room with him, so this led to restless nights and more drinking.

He was swallowing another shot of whiskey and remembering the incident for the hundredth time when he decided to fuck civilized drinking all together. With a growl, he threw the glass as hard as he could, watching as it shattered in the far corner of the room. Then he started to drink straight from the bottle. A few moments later, the door opened and Connor peaked into the room obviously worried about the sound of breaking glass. Eyes moving from the shattered mess on the floor to the shattered mess of his brother in the bed, Connor's face became the epitome of sternness.

"Ye've gotta fuckin' stop this, Murph," he said gruffly. "Ye've gotta snap out a it."

"Fuck ye, Connor," Murphy grumbled, taking another swig from the bottle and turning his eyes away from his brother.

Connor's face became red and his nostrils flared just a bit as he stomped toward the mattress. "Not a fuckin' word out a ye in three days an' the first thing ye say ta me is 'fuck ye?' Ye're a right bastard, ye know tha'?"

"Leave me the fuck alone," Murphy retorted, again drinking straight from the bottle.

"Aye, I'll leave ye the fuck alone, just as soon as ye get the fuck over it," Connor replied, towering over his brother as he pointed a threatening finger at him.

Murphy growled suddenly, slamming the bottle of whiskey down on the floor beside the mattress hard enough to send the liquid sloshing out as he glare dup at his brother. "I'm a fuckin' killer, Connor! I shot that girl right in the fuckin' head!"

He tapped his finger in the middle of his forehead for emphasis as Connor kneeled down beside the bed. "Listen here, Murph. It was a fuckin' accident. Ye had no idea."

"She was an innocent girl," Murphy wailed, his eyes clouding over with tears. "I killed her! I'm no better than the evil men we kill."

"Don't ye fuckin' talk like tha'," Connor growled now, again pointing a warning finger at him. "Don't ye dare."

Murphy shook his head, as if not hearing what Connor was saying. "There's innocent blood on me hands Connor! I don't deserve ta live!"

Without warning, Connor slapped him hard across the face. It sent him reeling a bit and he touched his cheek as he glared at his brother. He never did like being slapped and Connor knew that full well. Murphy lunged at him, throwing a punch that Connor easily avoided. They grabbed each other, grunting and struggling, trying to gain the advantage to put the other one down. But Murphy ended up on his back on the bed, Connor pinning his wrists down above his head amidst cursing and attempts to bite.

"Now, will ye calm the fuck down an' let me talk some sense inta ye," Connor hissed.

"Christ, the way ye looked at me Conn," Murphy replied, obviously ignoring his brother's question. Tears had started to slide down his cheeks, though he stubbornly refused to sob. "God'll fergive me, Conn. But will you? Will you?"

Connor's eyes widened for a second as he loosened his grip on Murphy's wrists. The sudden loss of aggression and the softness and sympathy in his brother's eyes made Murphy squeeze his shut, trying not to cry.

"Ah, Murphy, ye silly git," Connor replied softly, his thumb gently brushing the tears from his brother's face. "I'll always fergive ye."

Then he kissed his Murphy's lips tenderly, and Murphy whimpered just a little, parting his lips, begging for more. Connor slid his tongue it slowly, both brother's having missed the kisses and caresses, the closeness that they had become so accustomed to. Murphy sighed into the kissed, trembling as he pressed his fingers under Connor's shirt, feeling the toned muscles of his brother's body pressing against him. With great effort, he pulled away to whisper across Connor's lips "Follow me unto Heaven an' Hell, brother?"

"Aye, love. Always," was Connor's equally soft reply before kissing Murphy again and pulling him into a tight embrace.


End file.
